Treacherous
by cade mercuria
Summary: That would be the last time those present would see the daughter of James Tate and Arlais Barton..." my take on the tenth walker: a 16th century English girl with "questionable intentions..."
1. Chapter One: Eradications

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the obvious OC's, but I am borrowing anything you recognise. The story's going to be canon/movie verse.

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Chapter 1: Eradications 

The year is 1572, and we are in England during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I. We are in a large manor south of Birmingham.

There are two tall figures, though one is shorter than the other.

"You do understand the importance of your task Ebony? If you have second thoughts you can resign I can give this to another one of the experienced assassins."

"No. This was appointed to me in the first place. I will not have another person take my rightful duty."

"If you need any assistance -"

"No Uncle, I will not need anything. I will do this alone. Contrary to what you and others may think, I am not incompetent, so stop implying so."

"If they find out who you are, they will -"

"They will not. Stop this; you talk as if you count on me to fail."

"It is not that. You and Cillian are of the Barton clan and your moth-."

"Do not bring my brother or _her_ into this, _Roland_. We could not help who our parents were and I will do this alone. You are the one who assigned this to me; do not go back on your word."

With that, she flounced off.

Uncle Roland watched his self-righteous, fifteen-year-old authoritarian niece stride proudly down the hall. He did not think it was wise to send the daughter of rival clans on an assassination such as this, nor someone so emotionally involved in the affair; she would become careless and dead within moments. But it was true; she was one of the best assassins he had with extensive  
experience in wiping out entire households, staff and all. Besides, she was the only one who would do it.

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Ebony was walking down the hall towards the manor library, awfully pissed off that her uncle was opposed to the fact that she would be eradicating her own grandfather. She didn't really care about that, she just wanted to avenge her fathers' and friends' deaths so she could get on with the rest of her life; nobody would kill someone she loved and get away with it.

As she flopped down onto her bed, there was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" she grumbled.

"It's Cillian. Can I to talk you about something?"

"Yes, if the matter's important."

Cillian walked slowly toward the bed, knowing that even going near his sister when she was like this could result in a few well-placed bruises, and he wanted to discuss a touchy subject.

"Do you know why Uncle Ronald is against you leaving tomorrow?" His voice was shaky, almost timid.

"Because he is overprotective and thinks I am incompetent?" Ebony snapped.

"No, it is because-" Cillian gritted his jaw as he was interrupted; he hated how she wouldn't let you finish your sentence if what your opinion even hinted otherwise.

"Are you siding with him as well? Because if you are-"

"In a way, but-" she had cut him off again. His eye twitched a bit.

"Then leave. I will _not_ hear of it." As the seething girl was steadily on her way to a fit of rage, Cillian decided to present on the oh-so-saccharine speech he'd been going through earlier.

"Please, listen to what I have to say; it might surprise you." Following a few seconds of silence, a grunt that sounded like "fine" was heard.

"The reason why we-"

"We?" His eye twitched again.

"Uncle and I," he continued, "it's because we care about you and don't want to see you hurt. You and I weren't the only ones who lost loved ones, Uncle lost his brother..."

Ebony mentally berated herself for that; Roland knew her father longer than any of them did. She was so caught up in her retribution she didn't even give a single thought to how others may feel, not just for her, but also about the other deceased. Some of the maids were daughters of the matron and the stable master and myriad other staff working at her uncle's manor.

Cillian continued, "he doesn't want to lose a niece and I don't want to lose a sister. If you weren't here, I wouldn't be here either... please think about that at least."

The formerly peeved girl had cooled down slightly and rolled over to look at her brother; he was a mirror image of their father almost. They both had curly chocolate brown hair and sparkling sapphire eyes that had the "I-know-something-you-don't" look about them.

She thought about what Uncle Roland had said earlier about assistance...

"I shall go tomorrow, but shall have assistance. Can you go tell Uncle that?"

Cillian smiled and nodded, then left the room. Once outside, he did a victory jig; so he didn't get her to stay, but with the informants stationed at the forest north of here and in the enemy house, she'd have less of a chance to be hurt, and that was comfort enough for him.

As he left, Ebony got off the bed to prepare her weapons and feed her chestnut stallion, named Quentin.

She'd be leaving at dawn the next day.

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Before Dawn... the next day....

Ebony was walking down the stables; occasionally hopping to make sure her daggers hadn't fallen out of her boots. Her armoury usually consisted of two daggers in her boots but rarely used them as her preferred weapons were the small vials of poison that were stored in padded pockets in her petticoats that also stored lockpicks. Unlike other assassins, she preferred a no-blood approach and when her poisons ; she never liked blood…

As she finished saddling her "behemoth" of a horse, Ebony felt a tap on her shoulder and looked down. Her handmaid and best friend, Earlene, was holding a small vial that contained a clear blue liquid.

"The alchemists made this especially for you," the short, strawberry-blonde girl held out the little tube.

"Thank you mother," Ebony chirped happily.

Despite being twelve years old and four foot nine inches, Earlene (A.K.A "mother" or "Matronette" to many of those at Tate manor) had taken over when her mother, Matron Mary (a woman who was remembered for her short (five foot four inch) stature and daunting presence) had died from a stroke three years earlier aged forty-eight.

Those who knew Mary as the little girl who sometimes just appeared at your side with exactly what you needed had called Earlene by her mother's name many times; she considered that a great honour.

They walked out of the stable in the direction of the gates, where virtually the whole household was standing in a single row, looking solemn.

Ebony mounted and headed toward the towering metal reinforced doors, noting how each person bowed their head as she walked by, as if to wordlessly bless her. She bowed her head in response, and saw that her own brother was absent.

That would be the last time those present would see the daughter of James Tate and Arlais Barton.

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So what do you think about the beginning? Good? Bad? Tell me in a review… 


	2. Chapter Two: Prisoner, Part I: Run

Chapter 2: Prisoner, Part I: Run

Refer to chapter 1 for disclaimer; the song featured is called "Woke From Dreaming" by The Delgados. Italics are thoughts, italics in " speech " marks are voices inside a person's head and anything underlined is a song; the rest of story will be written in present tense.

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"_You are not welcome here..."_

Hearing voices in your head usually makes you wake with a start. Especially when you wake on a strange forest floor and your lovable, slightly dim-witted though very strong stallion had abandoned you for reasons unknown.

Woke from dreaming

And there's blood on your hands. Fresh, wet blood.

You don't like blood. In fact, you loathe it; it's your greatest fear actually, but you had a reputation for being fearless and intimidating and you wanted to keep it that way.

You scream and stupidly start wiping your hands on your indigo riding dress and sky blue petticoats exposed by the spilt in the skirt. Your cloak, your torn, shredded, mud-caked cloak is beyond repair, and you rip it from your neck. The clasp cuts a small scratch and it stings.

You look closer at the offending item; there are four tears that go from the shoulders all the way down.

But it took convincing I was shaking screaming 

I was still alive

The slashes look as if a creature with sharp claws had tried to seize you from behind, but failed.

And you were picking strangers from the side of roadways

Little little let the danger unfold

You hear thundering in the distance, like the footsteps of a small army going into battle. You are sure of this because these footsteps are accompanied by unhuman, war-like cries.

As you quickly come to your feet an arrow embeds itself in the tree next to you.

RUN.

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Ok, this was a super short chapter because I didn't get any reviews for the first chapter and I didn't want to update if no one would read this. If I update, the next chapter's going to have the rest of this… So if you like this or know how i can improve it, tell me in a review, please? 


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